The Cuckoo's Egg in the Blithering Humdinger Nest
by wrtr74
Summary: Harry and Ron are forced to share a dormitory with Draco and Goyle. The Slytherins grow on them. Harry/Draco with hints of Ron/Hermione.


Author's Note: This was written for the hd_smoochfest community on LiveJournal, as a gift for tnumfive (my lj name is b00kaddict). The prompt was as follows:

8th year, Hogwarts: Under New Management. Parseltongue, boggart. Fighting in public, accidental magic (not Harry). No heavy smut, no declarations of love eternal. Just two very young adults enjoying those first days/weeks of discovering "I like you and you like me", but not being able to completely disregard the "I hated you for a large portion of my life" aspect of the relationship.

**The Cuckoo's Egg in the Blithering Humdinger Nest  
(a Blended Houses story)**

**Day One**

Harry stared at McGonagall across the large, claw-footed desk—Dumbledore's desk, his mind insisted, although he knew it predated Dumbledore. As Headmistress, McGonagall had every right to use it, just like she had every right to make decisions that affected the well being of the students. Even if those decisions were bloody insane.

Harry, apparently, wasn't the only one who thought so. Beside him, in the extra guest chair McGonagall had conjured for the purpose, Draco Malfoy made a strangled noise.

That alone was enough to make Harry hold his tongue.

"You can't be serious!" Draco said. "Doing away with the House system?"

"Had you been listening, Mr. Malfoy, you would realize that's not at all what I meant," McGonagall said. "What we are discussing is a simple adjustment of priorities."

"Gryffindors living with Slytherins," Harry said, unwilling to let her gloss over it.

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Or Hufflepuffs, or Ravenclaws, but yes. I believe that our best way forward is to give inter-house unity greater emphasis than it has been granted in the past." The former Headmasters of Hogwarts, in their various frames around the office, were awake and listening intently. Several, including Dumbledore, nodded their agreement. Others looked disgusted. "The logical place to start is with the students' living quarters. I will be explaining the changes at the Sorting Feast tonight."

"So then—why are we here, if this has already been decided?" Harry asked.

"I should think that was obvious, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said. "I am well aware of the weight your actions hold with the student body. I expect you and Mr. Malfoy to set a good example. Let the other students see you putting your differences aside, and they will follow suit."

"I killed Voldemort, so now I have to make nice to Malfoy." His resentment probably showed on his face.

Draco sneered. "Think of it as your reward for being a pompous—"

"Ten points from Slytherin," McGonagall said. "Oh, yes, house points will still be awarded. Only now they will be awarded for activities that promote unity, rather than reflecting individual achievements and Quidditch scores. Mr. Malfoy has just given us an example of the sort of behaviour that will serve to have points removed."

Harry covered his mouth to hide a smile as Draco protested. Then he asked, "So why sort at all, then?"

"Classes," Draco answered before McGonagall could speak. "You don't teach Slytherins the way you do Hufflepuffs. It just wouldn't work."

McGonagall nodded slowly. "You are correct, Mr. Malfoy. Students will be sorted for the purposes of classes, but will live in mixed groupings. Quidditch, I believe, will continue to be played in house teams for the time being."

That was a relief. Harry didn't think he could bear mixed Quidditch teams.

"Fine," Draco said.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "So glad you approve." She stopped when Draco held up one hand.

"Fine, as long as Greg can live with me," Draco finished. "I assume you're sticking me with Potter as well?"

"I had intended for you to be roommates, yes," McGonagall said.

Harry's mind stopped functioning. Live with Malfoy? Deal with that sarcastic mouth and pointy face every evening?

McGonagall was looking at him. He must have missed something she'd said. "Sorry, what?"

She sighed. "I am considering Mr. Malfoy's request. I wondered what your feelings were."

Why bother asking? She had just torn his home inside out. Hogwarts was the one safe place… he swallowed. "You don't want to know." His voice, much to his relief, was even.

"Aww, is ickle Potter sad?"

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"Gentlemen!" McGonagall rose to her feet. "Enough. I am counting on you to make this work. I will not countenance failure. And this bickering must end. You two will move into Ravenclaw Tower with Mr. Goyle and Mr. Weasley. And you will like it!" She clapped her hands together.

On the way out, Draco clasped him on the shoulder. "Cheer up, Potter, it could have been worse."

Harry stared. "We're roommates. How could it possibly have been worse?"

Draco shrugged. "Could be living in Hufflepuff."

* * *

Seating arrangements in the Great Hall, thankfully, were unchanged. So far. Harry sandwiched himself between Ron and Hermione and tried to forget that he wouldn't be returning to Gryffindor Tower after dinner.

"She's stark raving mad," Ron said after McGonagall's announcement. Mutinous murmurs surrounded them. "Spell damage, do you think?"

Hermione elbowed Harry in the gut.

"Ow!"

"Sorry. That was meant for Ron." She leaned across Harry. "It's actually quite a daring move, if you think about it. Hogwarts has always been about tradition but, well, you saw where that got us. She's right. It's time to make some changes."

"Don't see you rooming with Draco sodding Malfoy," Ron muttered.

They applauded politely with the rest of the students as McGonagall introduced Rolanda Hooch as the new head of Gryffindor House.

"Why two Slytherins with two Gryffindors, though?" Harry asked. "Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled to be rooming with you, Ron, but wouldn't it make more sense to always have one from each house?"

"The numbers won't support that," Hermione said quietly.

Harry looked down at the roast beef on his plate. The decreased numbers in the Great Hall had been one more thing he was trying not to think about. Some families that had suffered losses had decided to keep their children home. Many students from Harry's year had chosen not to return. And too many had died.

He shoved his plate away.

He shouldn't have returned. It wasn't the same. How could it be? If he were being honest, he wasn't the same, either. He'd been a fool to think he could just step back into his old life as if nothing had happened.

Across the table and down a bit, he caught sight of Dennis Creevey. Dennis gave him a lopsided smile.

"That's good news, isn't it?" It was Hermione.

Harry blinked.

"You didn't hear a word she just said, did you?" Hermione asked. "I'll be in Ravenclaw with you. Luna and Hannah and I and, well, Pansy Parkinson, but still, it's mostly good."

"That's great," Harry said, and meant it. He squeezed Hermione's hand. The three of them would be together. How bad could it be?

* * *

Ravenclaw Common Room was reassuringly similar to Gryffindor, Harry decided. There were more windows, and the sky was painted with stars, but the layout was the same. The same furnishings existed, only in blue instead of red. That, combined with the view out the windows, gave it an airy feeling. It wasn't as warm or homey as Gryffindor, but Harry thought he could get used to it.

Another difference was that there were more bookshelves. Hermione was already eyeing them greedily.

The biggest difference, of course, was in the students themselves. Everyone had clustered in House groups, Draco, Pansy and Goyle presiding over a group of simmering Slytherins in a corner. The younger Gryffindors had sought out Harry, Ron and Hermione. Hannah and the other Hufflepuffs were smiling and making an effort to integrate themselves with the Ravenclaws, who generally seemed to be trying to pretend the outsiders weren't there.

Luna wandered over to join the Gryffindors. "It's nice, isn't it? Everyone together like this. Like in the Room of Requirement."

Ron took the bait. "How's that?"

"When we were training, of course. All the houses mixed together. Well, not Slytherin…" Her voice trailed off thoughtfully. "They're a bit like the cuckoo's egg in the blithering humdinger nest, aren't they?"

Harry nodded, pretending to consider what she had said. Actually, she did have a point. Maybe not about the cuckoo eggs, but about the Room of Requirement. Dumbledore's Army had been about students working together, no matter what house they were in.

But not Slytherin.

One of the portraits, a scholarly-looking gentleman half hidden behind a stack of books, cleared his throat repeatedly. "You there. You!"

Hermione nudged Harry. "I think he means you."

"Someone at the door for you," the man said. "I must say, this is highly unusual. Can't solve the riddle, but insists that the Gryffindor password should apply, since he wants to speak with a Gryffindor. It's simply not done."

All eyes followed Harry as he made his way to the door. He glanced over his shoulder, then resolved to ignore them. A Gryffindor. Neville? It couldn't be Ginny, since the portrait had specified that it was a "he".

It was Dennis Creevey, holding a square, red pillow. Harry recognized it from the couch in the Gryffindor Common Room. "Dennis, what--?"

Dennis thrust the pillow into his hands. "I'm in Gryffindor. Properly, I mean. In the tower. Anyhow, I just thought you might like to have this. A bit of home, you know?" His face flushed as red as the pillow.

"Thanks." Harry gripped it tightly; its soft solidity was reassuring. "Thanks, Dennis. That's great."

Dennis beamed. "You're welcome. Password's 'unity', by the way. In case you need it." The last bit was added in a whisper.

Harry found himself smiling long after Dennis had disappeared down the hall and he had returned to the couch with his friends.

"What's that, Potter?" Draco called. "A security blanket?"

"It's a pillow, obviously," Ron said. "Arsehole."

"Aw, isn't that sweet," Draco said. "Some red to make the Gryffindors feel better. I think this room needs some green." The Slytherins cheered. Draco stood up and pointed his wand at Harry's pillow. "_Crudus_."

Nothing happened.

Draco tried it again, pointing at a chair. The chair stubbornly remained blue.

"Common Room furnishings are spelled against alterations," Hermione offered. "If you had read 'Hogwarts: A History'—"

She broke off because Draco pointed his wand at her. "_Crudus_." Her robes turned green.

"Bastard." Ron jumped up and turned Draco's hair bright red.

Things got messy after that. By the time Professor Flitwick waded in to fix the damages, nearly everyone wore robes, hair or even skin in an opposing house colour. Ron's blue teeth were startling. Harry had green skin, courtesy of Pansy, he thought. Draco had caught a glimpse of himself in Pansy's compact mirror and was whining that he looked like a Weasley.

"Not hardly," Ron said. "Nose is too pointy."

"Enough!" Flitwick shouted, jumping up onto a table. He glared around the room. "I have half a mind to leave you the way you are. A poor showing, people, a poor showing." He sighed, and Harry felt a wash of magic over his skin. Around him, things resumed their normal colours.

Flitwick stared at the red cushion that Harry had forgotten on the couch.

"Uh, that's meant to be that colour," Harry said. He picked it up and turned it around in his hands. "Sir."

"Very well." Flitwick shook his head. "To bed, all of you. I don't care what year you're in. I don't want to have to come back in here tonight."

As Harry followed Ron to the bedroom they had been assigned to share with Draco and Goyle, he couldn't help grinning. Draco with Gryffindor-red hair. Not a bad start to the year.

**Day Three**

Harry had taken to warding his bed curtains shut, even when he wasn't in bed. It seemed a reasonable precaution against whatever Draco might decide to slip between his sheets. At night, he added a Silencing Charm. He was used to Ron's snoring and even found it comforting, but he had no desire to hear whatever noises Draco and Goyle made during the night. Even worse would be for Draco to overhear one of Harry's nightmares; he would never live that down.

It was a nightmare that had woken him tonight, though, and in the aftermath, the closed curtains made him feel claustrophobic. Still panting, he released the wards and eased the curtains open. Cool air rushed in.

He sat up and folded his knees to his chest, then rested his head on them. It had been Snape this time, dying from Nagini's poison, his blood soaking into the floor of the Shrieking Shack. His eyes had accused Harry; that hadn't happened in real life, he knew, but he still couldn't shake the feeling of those angry eyes boring into him. Snape had given him memories in the dream, just as in real life, but the memories had been different—Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore. One after the other, Harry had watched the deaths that marked his failures. And then he was back in the Shrieking Shack, and Snape's eyes turned green, and it was his mother lying there, and it was his fault.

He shuddered. His pyjamas were damp with sweat, the bed sheets twisted into ropes. If he were home, in Gryffindor Tower, he would go down to the Common Room to escape the remnants of his dream.

Well, why not? Ravenclaw was his home now; he might as well get used to it.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, then stopped, staring. Across the room, Draco moved like a ghost, his pyjamas pale grey and his hair silvery in the dim light.

Harry fumbled for his glasses. He watched as Draco pulled open Goyle's bed curtains. Draco's lips moved, but no sound came out—Harry's Silencing Charm was still in place. Not daring to blink in case he missed something crucial, Harry lifted the spell.

"—all right, Greg. Just breathe." It was Draco's voice, overlaid on sniffling gasps that had to be coming from Goyle. Ron's snores rumbled on, telling Harry that he was the only eavesdropper.

Harry leaned forward to see better. Draco was sitting on the edge of Goyle's bed, his hand resting on the larger boy's shoulder. Goyle huddled in the middle of the bed, his back to Harry.

"I know how you feel," Draco continued. It was a voice Harry hadn't heard him use before—slow and steady. Comforting, even. "I miss him too."

Goyle mumbled something that sounded like "birthday."

"Yeah," Draco said. "I remember. We'll celebrate, all right? We'll celebrate it anyway. I'll buy you the best damned Firewhisky you've ever had, and we'll toast him together."

Harry thought the sob that followed had some laughter in it. Draco smiled slightly.

Was it Crabbe they were talking about? It had to be. Harry realized he had no idea when the boy's birthday had been, but it sounded like it was coming up soon.

A memory of heat flashed over him. Fiendfyre and desperation, reaching and being too late. Add another to the list of deaths he should have prevented. He had given very little thought to Crabbe and now he felt a surge of guilt over that. Harry hadn't liked Crabbe, hadn't agreed with his choices, but that didn't make his death any less a tragedy. Especially for his friends.

"Stay," Goyle said, and Draco nodded.

"All right. Until you're asleep." He settled back to lean against Goyle's headboard—and saw Harry. His eyes narrowed, seeming to glitter even from across the room.

Harry froze, hardly daring to breathe. They stayed like that, locked in each other's stares, for the long moments until Goyle's breathing deepened and Draco let his hand drop from the other boy's shoulder.

Moving as smoothly as a snake, Draco stood, never taking his eyes from Harry's. Finally, he turned away to close Goyle's curtain. Harry sagged.

"Potter." Even quiet as it was, there was no mistaking the command in Draco's voice. "Say a word and I'll gut you in your sleep."

Harry looked up. Draco was tall and silver, a sharp-edged statue. A knife. Harry was suddenly very tired of being angry. "Piss off, Malfoy."

He closed his curtains to block out the room. To block out things he wasn't meant to see.

**Day Four**

Classes were still done in house groups, it was true, but some classes had always featured multiple houses. Like it or not—and Harry didn't—Gryffindor and Slytherin had Defense  
Against the Dark Arts together.

Draco was being particularly prickly that morning. He had gone out of his way to bump into Harry twice, had taken even longer than usual in the shower when he knew Harry was waiting, and had thrown twice the usual number of barbed comments his way. Probably angry that Harry had caught him acting like a human being.

Goyle, at least, didn't seem to know that Harry had seen anything he shouldn't have; he treated Harry with the same malevolent indifference as always. He laughed at Draco's jokes, but that was the extent of it. Goyle had never been one to initiate things.

Normally, Harry would have been happy to get out of Ravenclaw Tower, but that morning they had Defense class, and the new teacher had it in for Harry. John Dawlish had been an Auror, until a few too many _Confundus_ Spells had made him unfit for duty. Harry had thrown one of those spells himself, which may have accounted for the resentment.

Dawlish had started off on the first day by addressing Harry as 'the Great Harry Potter,' and obsequiously referring all questions to him. Then, without warning, he had demonstrated _Confundus_ on Harry, leaving him bumping into desks until the end of class, when Hermione gently steered him to the door.

Draco had amused everyone in the Common Room with an impersonation that evening.

Dawlish didn't like Neville either, probably because of the time he tried to arrest Neville's grandmother and ended up in St. Mungo's as a result. Dawlish treated Neville with a Snape-like scathing wit, or tried to, at least. His wit just wasn't that scathing, and Neville had grown enough over the past year not to be intimidated by a sarcastic professor.

Today, though, Dawlish seemed determined to break Neville's composure. He started with an introduction to the Unforgivable curses, then zeroed in on the Cruciatus curse. Some of it was interesting; Dawlish was actually a good teacher when he tried, and he had researched some of the science behind the curse. He talked about nerve endings in the body and what happened when they were over stimulated.

His almost scientific approach had Harry wondering whether Dawlish were Muggle-born; he spoke like someone who had at least a passing familiarity with Muggle medicine. Under other circumstances, Harry might have liked to ask him about it.

Dawlish produced a rat in a cage from under his desk. "Your assignment will be to observe as I apply the Cruciatus curse to this rat and to write a detailed essay on the effects, making reference to today's lecture. Ten inches should be enough."

Harry narrowed his eyes. This was worse than fourth year, when Barty Crouch Jr. had cast the curse on a spider. He remembered Neville's reaction then.

Hermione's hand shot up. "Sir. I think most people in this class have at least a passing familiarity with the Cruciatus curse." Her voice trembled only slightly. Harry moved his chair closer to hers. If her hand had been under the desk, he'd have taken it to reassure her, but Hermione was in her 'good student' pose: back straight, one hand up, the other in writing position.

Neville, who had been sitting with Ron in the desk ahead of Harry's, slammed his books shut and stormed out of the classroom.

"Are you refusing to do the assignment, Mr. Longbottom?" Dawlish called. "Detention!"

"Shut your gob, you sadistic piece of filth." Draco's words were pure ice, dropped one by one into the silence that followed Neville's slamming of the door.

Until that moment, Harry had managed to forget that he and his friends weren't the only ones with memories of Cruciatus.

"Are you going to run away like Mr. Longbottom?" Dawlish asked. "There's room for all in detention."

Harry stood up. "I expect that Neville's gone to tell McGonagall about your lesson plan," he said. "At least, I hope so."

Draco stood as well. "I knew some other people who liked to torture animals," he drawled. "They had tattoos." He shoved up his left sleeve. The mark was still visible as a scar, faded red against Draco's pale skin.

Harry kept himself still; the mark was nothing new to him. Others in the class shivered.

With a scrape of her chair, Hermione stood beside Harry. She said nothing, only stood there, followed shortly by Ron, then Goyle. One by one, the students in the class stood, silently facing Dawlish.

His Auror training stood him in good stead; he didn't lose composure, at least. "Ah," he said. "So that's how it is." He leaned against his desk in a show of nonchalance until the classroom door banged open and McGonagall strode in, followed closely by Neville.

"Class dismissed," she said. She glared around the classroom. "Now go!"

Harry and Draco waited until all the other students had filed out, then left together. Draco stopped when the door closed behind them. Harry looked at him. He felt that he should say something, but no words came easily.

Draco turned and walked away from Harry.

**Day Five**

A commotion at the Slytherin dinner table caught Harry's eye. Draco was holding court for Blaise and Theo, moaning and groaning in a passable imitation of… Harry's fork clattered to the table.

It was one thing to have nightmares; it was another to have it acted out in the Great Hall. Blaise and Theo glanced in Harry's direction, laughing.

"Don't let him get to you, mate," Ron said. "It was only last night, anyhow."

Last night. Harry must have forgotten the Silencing Charm. He picked up his fork again, determined to ignore the Slytherins.

But then Draco started hissing.

It was stupid; Harry knew it. He and Draco were too old for this. They'd been through too much to go back to the petty rivalry of first year. But for some reason, Draco's imitation of Harry speaking Parseltongue in his sleep made his face heat up and his brain shut down.

It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. He didn't speak Parseltongue anymore, not since the piece of Voldemort's soul he was carrying had been destroyed. He wasn't like that anymore; he didn't have that inside him.

He jumped to his feet.

"Harry, sit down!" Hermione whispered. "Ron, make him sit!"

Harry glared at Draco. "Do you really want to start talking about what people get up to at night, Malfoy? Because the other night, I thought I saw—"

"Shut up, Potter!"

Blaise laughed out loud. "No, please tell. We'd love to hear what our dear friend has gotten up to without us. I hope it's… interesting."

Harry never knew if he would have told Goyle's secret, because at that moment a hex from Draco knocked him onto the Ravenclaw table. He fired back almost before he had stopped moving, but Draco dodged. Harry's stunner hit Blaise instead. Blaise slumped over onto Nott, who sent a curse flying in Harry's direction.

Harry rolled out of the way. Behind him, one of the floating chandeliers crashed down on the Hufflepuff table. Someone, probably one of the teachers, cast a shield around it to contain the flames, but several students cried out in pain.

Harry felt himself immobilized for an instant, then shook it off. By now, hexes were flying all around him, mostly directed either at or from the Slytherin table. This wasn't like the colour fight in the Ravenclaw Common Room. These were wartime spells cast by frightened and angry students.

He searched for Draco. No one and nothing else mattered, not even the shrieks and curses exploding around him.

Harry's robes burst into flame. Only Hermione's quick '_Augamenti_' kept him from being badly burned. Finally, he spotted Draco, who was being forcibly restrained by Goyle. Harry didn't care. He stunned them both before another flash of red sent him crashing to the ground.

He woke up in the infirmary to McGonagall's pinched and angry face. "You should be expelled, Mr. Potter," she said, before he even had time to remember what had happened. "However, if I expelled every student who attacked another during that brawl, Hogwarts would be empty. Besides, I doubt that the Board of Governors will be pleased if I remove Harry Potter from the school. I need you on my side." She inhaled sharply. "You have disappointed me. Do not do so again."

"Malfoy—" he tried. His voice was a rasp.

"Mr. Malfoy is recovering from being Stunned. Somewhat faster than you are, I might add. You throw a hard curse, Mr. Potter, but it's possible that I may throw a harder one. You would do well to remember that."

He thought she looked quite satisfied with herself as she left.

**Day Six**

They were sentenced to detention… non-magical labour, repairing damage to the Great Hall. Not everything could be fixed without magic, of course, but McGonagall and the other teachers would finish what remained once Harry and Draco had done what they could. Once they had sweated enough, Harry thought, wiping his forehead.

Filch, of course, had a supply of Muggle tools. Harry was surprised when Draco let that pass without comment. Maybe it was because he had never seen them before; he didn't even seem to know what half the objects were. Harry had to show him which end of the hammer to use.

"I wish Ron were here," Harry said, struggling with a chair that didn't want to fit back together.

"Why? Afraid to be alone with me, Potter?" Draco looked more tired than Harry felt. Probably not used to physical labour. He drooped against the wall he was cleaning; Harry hid a smirk.

"Yeah, Malfoy, that's it. I'm terrified you'll slop dirty water on me." Harry snorted. "No, you git, it's just that Ron's good at this stuff. Besides, I'm not the one who had to ask McGonagall to let me move in with my best friend."

"No, she did it anyhow," Draco said. "Anything for Harry Potter."

Harry shrugged. "I wasn't afraid to move in on my own. You were."

Draco gave him a 'piss off' look. "It's the other way around, arsehole. Greg needs me, and McGonagall knows it. That's why she agreed. Now can we get this over with?"

Harry knew Draco was telling the truth. He saw him looking after Goyle the other night, after all. Still, it was a surprise to hear him say it—to hear him give any explanation at all rather than simply telling Harry where to get off.

"Reckon you're right," he said. After a moment, he took a break from the chair and went to join Draco. He picked up the second scrub brush, thought for a moment, then stripped down to his t-shirt. He was sweating anyhow, even in the chill of the Great Hall, and there seemed no point getting any more clothing dirty.

Draco, whose robes were filthy, looked startled. "Get dressed," he said.

"Why? Am I bothering you?"

"Always," Draco muttered. Harry felt obscurely pleased.

**Day Seven**

McGonagall had taken over the NEWT-level Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. Harry had heard it rumoured that she was looking for a replacement for Dawlish. In the meantime, he was just relieved to have a DADA teacher without a personal vendetta against him.

Although he thought he might have to re-evaluate that last, in light of McGonagall's latest request.

"I fail to see the problem," she said. "You've helped students with the Patronus charm in the past."

"That was different." That had been for a good cause. Oh yeah, and it hadn't been Draco.

"Harry, this is not a request."

He was so startled by her use of his first name that he forgot the arguments he had lined up in his head.

Her mouth twitched. "If it makes you feel better to know, Mr. Malfoy is also less than thrilled with the arrangement." She paused. "I tell you this in confidence. The Ministry is working to round up the Dementors, but many remain free. I view the ability to cast a Patronus as a necessary life skill in the present environment, particularly for Mr. Malfoy."

Probably because so many of the NEWT-level students had learned years ago. Harry allowed himself to feel a bit smug about that. "Yes, Headmistress," he said.

"Is your boggart still a Dementor?" McGonagall asked.

Good question. He considered. "I don't know… I think so."

"I suppose we had better check. With your permission, Mr. Potter?" She gestured toward a large chest. Harry thought it might have been the same one Remus had used when he had first taught Harry how to cast a Patronus. Remembering, he had to work to swallow.

He nodded. Might as well get it over with. He really had no idea what would come out of the chest: a Dementor? Voldemort? Harry wasn't sure that Voldemort should be his greatest fear anymore, not after all he had seen, but fear wasn't rational, was it?

McGonagall opened the trunk. What came out was… Harry. His eyes were as red as Voldemort's had been. He raised his wand, pointing it at McGonagall.

The real Harry staggered back. McGonagall jumped in front of him. The boggart blurred; it looked to Harry like it was falling to the ground, but McGonagall shouted "_Riddikulus_", and the fake Harry sprouted cat's ears and a tail. She banished it.

McGonagall sank into her chair. "It's never pleasant, is it?"

Harry wasn't sure the question was directed at him. "Professor—Headmistress—I saw…"

"I know, Harry. I saw it too. Remember that the boggart represents a fear, not something that will come to pass." She straightened. "It seems that you'll have to commence your work with Mr. Malfoy without the benefit of a false Dementor. Just as well, perhaps."

Harry nodded shakily. He turned to go.

"Harry, I'm counting on you."

But that was just it, wasn't it? People always were.

* * *

Harry would rather have been flying. It was a beautiful September afternoon, perfect for it. Instead, he was walking with Draco Malfoy down by the lake, looking for a private place to practice the Patronus charm.

Draco had insisted on meeting somewhere private. Probably because he didn't want anyone to see him fail.

Since it was Draco's paranoia leading them on, Harry let his mind wander. No reason to pay attention to Draco until it was actually time to start. Unfortunately, his mind kept wandering back to the boggart in McGonagall's office. He forced himself to pay attention to his surroundings, instead.

The air carried the rich smell of leaves about to fall. There was a stiff breeze across the normally quiet lake; Harry found that he liked the sound of waves crashing.

But he would rather have been flying. He wondered if Draco felt the same. When they played Quidditch, it seemed that Draco flew only to beat Harry. He was intent on the Snitch, gripping his broom tightly. Harry had seen the Slytherins at practice a few times, though, and he knew that Draco took joy in flying. He looked at home on a broom; graceful and quick, the way a Seeker should be.

"What are you smiling about?" Draco asked.

"None of your business," Harry answered. It was more of a reflex than anything. He regretted it the moment he said it, though, because Draco's question hadn't sounded unfriendly.

Draco sniffed. "If anyone asks, I'm helping you with your Potions essay."

"Why would I say that? Just makes me sound thick. I'm doing you the favour, here."

"You're doing what McGonagall told you to. And you have less to lose. Besides, you are thick, when it comes to Potions."

"Thanks for that." Harry thought fast. Draco did have a point, and Hermione had refused to help him. Slughorn expected Harry to be a genius after sixth year, but without Snape's old Potions text, Harry was barely scraping by. "Look, I'll go with your cover story on one condition."

"What's that?"

"You really do help me with my Potions essay."

Draco's eyebrows flew up. "You're serious."

"Why not? You're good at it, I'm not. I'll teach you to cast a Patronus; you help me with this essay. Seems fair." He hoped the arrangement might appeal to Draco's pride and make him easier to get along with. If Draco were in a foul mood, it was going to take a long time to teach him to cast a Patronus.

"You're on." Draco held out a hand for Harry to shake.

They decided their location was remote enough that they weren't likely to be discovered. Harry ran over the basics of the Patronus charm, then it was time for Draco to try it.

Draco held out his wand. "_Expecto Patronum!_"

Nothing happened. No silvery shape, no sparks, nothing.

"Try again," Harry encouraged.

Still nothing. The wand motion was right, but Draco had no power behind his spell.

Harry sat down on a rock. They were in for a long haul. "Do you mind me asking what memory you're using?"

Draco shrugged. "If you must. I'm remembering Christmas mornings. Toys and all that nonsense. That's supposed to be a happy time, isn't it?"

Might as well cut to the chase. "Were Christmas mornings a happy time for you?"

"I suppose."

Harry shook his head. "If it's a happy memory, you know. You don't suppose. Maybe you should try something different."

Draco looked thoughtful. "When the Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin."

"That's your happy memory?" Harry had a distinct memory of asking _not_ to be put in Slytherin; then again, Draco had been a large part of the reason for that.

"I knew my father would be pleased."

This wasn't going to be easy. "I think it has to be something that pleased you, not your father. But go ahead and try it."

Harry wasn't surprised when it didn't work.

"Show me," Draco said.

Harry concentrated. The memory he drew on was one he had used before; the night in the forest when Ron came back to save him from drowning. "_Expecto Patronum!_" A silver stag bounded out of his wand. He sent it galloping in a wide circle; it even splashed into the lake. Draco laughed out loud—the sort of sound a child would make.

On instinct, Harry made the stag approach Draco. Draco slowly reached out a hand, transfixed by the silvery animal. The stag nudged his hand, then disappeared.

Draco stared at place where the stag had been. "I had no idea," he said. He closed his hand as though it held something precious.

Harry waited a moment. He doubted that Draco had been close to a Patronus before; as far as he knew, Snape was the only Death Eater able to cast one. When it seemed safe to break the silence, he spoke quietly. "I wonder what yours will be."

Draco continued to stare straight ahead. "There's nothing like that inside me," he said. "We're wasting our time."

"What do you mean?"

"It's warm. Did you know that? When it touched my hand, I felt it. That much warmth and light… trust me, it isn't going to happen."

"It will," Harry promised. "I thought I'd never get it, at first. You just have to find the right memory."

Draco gave a sort of half-smile, like he knew something Harry didn't. "If you say so."

"I know so."

They tried a few more times before Draco threw his wand down. "Pathetic."

Harry crouched to retrieve the wand. He'd used this one before; in a way, winning this wand had saved his life. He held it up to Draco.

Draco hesitated, then took it. "Thanks." He sat down on the rock where Harry had been before. "Look, you don't have to tell me this, but… what memory did you use, just then? Only it might help to know."

Harry sat beside him. Draco had to shift to make room. "I can tell you," he said, "but it's kind of a long story, and a bit strange."

Draco made a noncommittal sound.

Harry took that as his cue to start. "We were camping," he started. "Ron and Hermione and I. Do you know what a Horcrux is?"

By the time Harry reached the part about the silver doe, Draco had turned to face him. When he reached the memory—Ron's return—Draco seemed to realize that he had been hanging onto Harry's every word. He turned to face the lake again.

"I'm sorry you had to go through all that," he said finally. "The weas—Weasley shouldn't have left you."

"People make mistakes," Harry said carefully, watching for a reaction.

Draco snorted. "Don't try for subtlety, it doesn't suit you. Anyhow, I think I'm ready to try again."

This time, he managed a bit of silvery light—almost a noncorporeal Patronus. "That was great!" Harry said.

That earned him an eye roll. "No need to patronize, Potter." But a smile slipped past Draco's guard.

Draco, Harry decided, had a nice smile.

**Day Ten**

Harry gave up on the library when it became clear that studying was the last thing on Ron's mind that evening, and that Ron might make more progress with Hermione if Harry weren't there. He dragged himself up to the Ravenclaw common room, hoping for quiet.

He found a roomful of drunken Slytherins.

Well… more of a cornerful, really. Draco, Pansy and Goyle held court on a couch, Draco sprawling with his head in Pansy's lap and his feet in Goyle's. The younger Slytherins had pulled chairs and cushions around. There appeared to be several bottles of Firewhisky in circulation. The area was conspicuously empty of students from other houses; they were everywhere in the common room but the Slytherin corner.

Pansy nudged Draco. "Potter's here," she said. "Hi, Potter. Draco's been waiting for you."

This probably wasn't good. Harry 'casually' set his books down on an empty table, freeing his hands to reach for his wand.

Draco sat up slowly, assisted by Pansy. Goyle giggled.

"Potter! Good t'see you," Draco said. "Got somethin' t'ask you." He stood carefully, bottle in hand, and waved it in Harry's direction. "C'mere."

"Er, no. You can ask me from there," Harry said. He slid his hand into his wand pocket.

"Don't worry, he's a friendly drunk," Pansy said. She looked at Draco as though appraising something. "He shouldn't get maudlin for at least a few more hours."

"Don' listen to her," Draco said. He managed a scornful glance at Pansy. "Malfoys don' get drunk. Jus' 'nebriated."

"Right." All of the Slytherins and most of the non-Slytherins in the room had grown quiet, watching this exchange. Harry shifted uncomfortably, as much on Draco's behalf as on his own. "Well, get on with it, then."

"You r'member my frien' Vincent?"

"To Vincent!" Goyle shouted, and took a long swallow from his bottle. Draco followed suit.

"I remember." The pieces fell into place. Draco's promise to Goyle, the Slytherin party. "Is it—it would have been his birthday today, wouldn't it?"

Draco beamed. "I wan' you to drink to Vincent with me. Jus' one drink."

Harry felt all eyes on him. He didn't want to drink to Crabbe. He wanted to leave the Common Room, put on his Invisibility Cloak, and slink back in unnoticed. To sneak past the crowd and go to bed. But Draco looked so hopeful, holding his bottle out to Harry.

"Please," Draco said. "It'd mean a lot." The comic drunk disappeared; underneath, Harry caught a glimpse of something vulnerable.

He remembered first year, another occasion when Draco had stretched his hand out. Things might have been very different if Harry had taken it.

"Sure," Harry said. He took the few steps necessary to bring him in reach of Draco. Draco pushed the bottle into his hand. Harry raised it. "To Vincent," he said, locking eyes with Draco. Because Vincent was Draco's friend, and was a boy he had never taken the chance to know; Harry had only ever known Crabbe.

He took a long swallow of Firewhisky that burned on the way down.

Draco placed both hands on his shoulders. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you. You're… tha' was nice." Harry was close enough to smell the Firewhisky on his breath.

"Draco," Pansy said warningly.

Draco stepped away. His knees promptly gave out and deposited him on Goyle's lap. They both seemed to find that hilarious.

Harry set the bottle down on a table. "I should go," he said.

"A toast," someone else said. The voice hadn't come from the Slytherin corner. Harry turned to see Luna standing in the middle of the room, holding up an invisible glass. Her voice was unusually focused, lacking the dreamy quality it normally held. "To friendship." There was a resonance to it.

Harry raised his own invisible glass. "To friendship," he repeated, and heard the toast echoed by the Slytherins, then by the rest of the room.

Harry figured that was as good a time as any to go to bed.

* * *

A loud thud woke him. He lay still, evaluating the situation before he opened his eyes; Moody had taught him that.

"Shhhhhhh!" It was Draco's voice. "Harry's sleeping. Don' wake him up. He looksh sweet, don' you think?"

No bloody way was Harry opening his eyes and admitting to having heard that. He felt his face heat up and hoped Draco was too drunk to notice the flush.

"If you say so," Ron said.

Ron? Harry cracked one eye open, just a slit. He'd left the lights on when he went to bed, since everyone else was still up.

Without his glasses he couldn't see much, but it seemed to him a red-haired person (Ron) and a large person (probably Goyle) were supporting a smaller, pale one (Draco) between them. Even given his blurry vision, Ron's hair and Draco's were easy to pick out.

"Thanksh for helping with Greg," Draco said. "I think he'sh had too much to drink."

"It's possible," Ron said. Harry heard a grunt, then the creak of bedsprings. "Maybe you should turn in, too."

"Think I might," Draco said. A quieter creak as Ron deposited him on his bed. Before Ron even had time to move away, Draco's pale-haired figure toppled over, then a light snore Harry hadn't heard before joined Goyle's heavy one.

Ron dropped onto his own bed, facing Harry. "Get up, you lazy sod, I know you're awake."

Harry sat up. "That was… very strange."

"You're telling me." Ron yawned. "You know, I think we should keep Malfoy drunk all the time. He's nicer this way."

"Nah. Hermione'd get on your back about Firewhisky rights or some such."

Ron laughed. "You're probably right." He flicked his wand to extinguish the lights.

In the dark, they grew quiet. In the dark, it might almost have been Gryffindor dormitory, if Harry let himself pretend it was Neville and Dean snoring instead of Goyle and Draco.

"I feel sorry for them," Ron finally said. "They're arseholes, but if it was you or Hermione instead of Crabbe… I dunno. Don't really want to think about it."

"We've all lost friends," Harry said. The room seemed to grow cold.

"And on that cheerful note," Ron said. He changed into his pyjamas, then settled back into bed. "Good night, Harry."

"Good night," Harry said. He hesitated. Might as well say it. "Ron? I'm glad you're here."

"Course you are," Ron said. "Now go to sleep. Malfoy and Goyle are going to have wicked hangovers in the morning, and I don't want to miss it."

* * *

The next time Harry woke, someone was shaking his shoulder.

"Mnnnnh," he said. Any reasonable person would know that meant 'go away'.

Clearly whoever was shaking him was not reasonable. "Harry? Harry, wake up." The voice belonged to Draco.

"Wha's wrong?" He sat up. Draco was a pale blur above him.

Harry fumbled for his glasses. Draco passed them to him. "Thanks." Brought into focus, Draco was glassy-eyed, swaying slightly where he stood. "What time is it?" Harry asked.

"Are you awake?" Draco asked.

Huh? "Yeah. I'm awake," Harry said. He was starting to wonder if Draco was; Draco seemed to be looking at Harry and past him, all at once. "Why don't you sit down?"

Draco sat at the foot of Harry's bed, leaning against one of the posts. Harry slid up to make room for him. Moments passed.

"Draco?" Harry asked finally, afraid the other boy was asleep with his eyes open. "Was there something you needed?"

"The fire was bad, wasn't it?" Draco said. "We would have died."

If he were saying what Harry thought he was saying, it wasn't a conversation he wanted to have in the middle of the night with a drunken Draco. "Do you mean—in the Room of Requirement?"

"You really tried to save Vince, didn't you?" Draco asked.

"You know I did," Harry said quietly.

Draco nodded. "The fire was bad, wasn't it? We would have died."

Harry slid forward carefully, not sure how aware Draco was. He put a hand on Draco's foot, since that was the closest part of Draco's body to him. Draco was still wearing his shoes, still fully dressed. "It was bad," he confirmed. "But we got out. We saved everybody we could."

Draco lapsed into silence again. After a moment, his head dropped forward. His body twitched once, then relaxed.

"Draco?" No answer. Harry groaned. "Absolutely not. You are not sleeping here." No bloody way was he explaining this in the morning.

Muttering about the unfairness of people who woke others up in the middle of the night, then fell asleep in their beds, Harry stood up and made his way over beside Draco. He paused. Draco did look… peaceful. It might be easier just to help him lay down, then take Draco's bed for his own.

But that, too, would require an explanation that Harry wasn't sure he wanted to give.

He draped Draco's arm over his shoulder, then stood up. Draco mumbled, but seemed able to support some of his own weight. They shuffled across the room like that, Draco half-lying across Harry's back. For a skinny git, he was heavy.

Harry backed them both up to Draco's bed, then sat them down as one unit. Draco flopped backward across the bed, arms splayed out. His head rolled to the side.

Harry considered leaving him like that, but it didn't seem right. He didn't want to think about what he was feeling just then, or question why he wanted to look after Draco… some kind of protective urge, maybe. Asleep, Draco looked softer than he did awake.

Plus, he wasn't insulting anyone. Maybe Ron was right. They should keep him drunk.

Draco never stirred as Harry removed his shoes and belt and turned him properly in his bed. He had fallen across the covers, so Harry retrieved a spare blanket from his own bed.

It was all logical so far, all what one decent person would reasonably do for another. Less reasonable was the urge that had Harry brushing Draco's hair back, where it had fallen over his face. Draco did stir, then. He caught at Harry's hand with his own and half opened his eyes, then relaxed into sleep again.

After a breathless, weighted moment, Harry tugged his hand away. Draco wasn't likely to remember any of this in the morning, anyhow. Harry and Ron had seen George like this once, half waking out of a drunken sleep, moving automatically, holding conversations that made no sense. George hadn't believed them about any of it the next day.

Harry returned to his own bed then, on a thought, retrieved two bottles of hangover potion from his trunk and placed them where Draco and Goyle would see them in the morning. He didn't linger by Draco's bed, didn't check to see if he were still covered, and very resolutely did not listen to Draco's slow breathing; he certainly didn't feel any urge to touch the hair again and see if it were as soft as he remembered.

No. He went straight back to bed. That was what any reasonable person would do.

**Day Eleven**

Hangover potion could only do so much. The next morning at breakfast, Draco looked… well, as rough as he deserved to feel, Harry decided. The Slytherin's skin had a distinct greenish tint. His shoulders drooped, and he poked at his food.

Harry saw Blaise nudge Theo. "Rough night, Malfoy?" Theo asked.

"Maybe it's having Potter as a roommate," Blaise said loudly. "He still keep you up at night? Still talking to snakes in his sleep?"

Harry gripped his fork tightly. Ron put a warning hand on his arm.

"No," Draco said. That was all. No joke, no explanation.

Theo and Blaise looked disappointed. "You sure? No screaming nightmares? No waking up calling for his Mummy?" Theo asked.

Draco glared. "If you're so concerned with Potter's sleeping habits, I suggest you ask him to spend the night," he said. "I'll let him know you're interested."

Harry blinked. Beside him, Ron exhaled. "That was… unexpected," Ron said.

Harry could only nod.

**Day Fourteen**

The Patronus lessons were coming along well, Harry thought. Draco's Patronus still didn't have a corporeal form, but it was becoming more consistent. And he found that he rather enjoyed spending time with Draco, at least when he wasn't being prickly.

They walked together back to their shared dormitory afterwards. Draco led the way through the door, then stopped so abruptly that Harry bumped into him.

"What the—?" Draco said.

Harry looked past him. In the Slytherin corner of the common room, Ron and Goyle were sharing the couch, laughing hysterically. Pansy and Hermione looked on, nonplussed.

"Greg? What's going on?" Draco asked.

"Gryffer—Gryffer—" Goyle choked.

"Gryfferin!" Ron shouted triumphantly.

"They've decided you need a name for your shared dormitory," Pansy said. "No, they're not drunk. More's the pity."

"Gryfferin? It sounds like something a dog would say," Harry said, moving past Draco. "Why not Slythindor?"

"I can't believe you're encouraging this," Draco said.

"P—put Slythindor, on the door!" Goyle said. That sent Ron into fresh waves of laughter.

"Wow." Harry shook his head. "Are you sure you're both all right?"

"Don't be a prat, Harry, this is important," Ron said. "We're finally getting somewhere. House unity and all that."

"Oh. That's good. Right?" Harry sat down beside Ron, feeling like he was in foreign territory, which, he supposed, he literally was. Other than the time Harry had toasted Crabbe, no non-Slytherin had invaded this part of the room. "Slythindor, then."

Goyle looked thoughtful. Harry wasn't sure he had every seen that particular expression on him before. "Maybe we should work Ravenclaw in. Since we live here and all."

Ron nodded. "Ravslythindor? Gryfferinclaw?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco said. "In either case, Slytherin is demoted to a middle syllable, and that's simply unacceptable."

"Besides, we ought to include Hufflepuff, too, if all the other Houses are in," Hermione said. She grinned at Harry. Apparently now that the hysterical laughter had died down, Hermione approved of the proceedings.

"No," Draco said. "That's your dormitory. Four girls, one from each house. Make up your own name. We've got two Slytherins and two Gryffindors in ours. Gryfferin or Slythindor."

In the end, Hermione had them put it to a vote. Draco voted for Slythindor, Goyle and Ron liked Gryfferin. Harry hesitated, but decided that house loyalty came before concerns about dog noises. "Gryfferin," he said. Gryffindor first.

Draco scowled. "Fine, but we write it in green letters," he said. He spelled it onto their door.

It cost them detention, but they were all fine with that. Particularly since Draco's lettering withstood all of Flitwick's attempts to remove it. Harry was impressed and, for once, didn't mind letting Draco know.

"Naturally," Draco said, but he grinned. Harry figured that was worth it, right there.

He also thought that 'Gryfferin' was a much catcher name than the "Ravslythpuffindor" that the girls chose for their dormitory.

**Day Sixteen**

Draco, much to Harry's surprise, was a good teacher. Unlike Hermione in previous years, he refused to do the work for Harry, making sure instead that Harry understood enough to do it on his own.

They sat at an isolated table in the library, Draco checking over Harry's finished Potions essay. "I think you got it," Draco said. "Just a bit here about stirring technique that's wrong. The angle of the wand determines whether you're forcing ingredients down from the top or up from the bottom." He smiled. "Other than that, it's good."

"Yeah?" He wasn't sure why praise from Draco warmed him so much. Maybe because Draco really was good at Potions; better than Hermione, this year. Sure. That was probably it.

"Of course. Not as good as my essay, naturally."

"Naturally. Prat." Harry punched Draco in the arm. He'd been doing that a lot, lately—seeking out excuses for casual touch. "After dinner, do you want to go back down by the lake and work on the Patronus charm?"

"Why, Potter, feeling inferior? Need to beat me at something?" Draco rubbed at his arm. His drawled words didn't pull the reaction from Harry that they once might have. This, he was coming to understand, was just how Draco talked to his friends.

"That must be it," Harry said. "No, I was just thinking about it. You're so close. I really think it's just a matter of finding the right memory, now."

"Maybe." Draco didn't sound convinced. "Maybe I just don't have that kind of memory. Did you ever think of that? Maybe there's a reason why Death Eaters don't cast the Patronus charm. I mean, the Dark Lord attracted a certain kind of person. I wouldn't say that my father's friends were all terribly well adjusted, if you know what I mean."

"You mean you've never been happy. I find that hard to believe," Harry said.

Draco leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. "I didn't say that. I just wonder if everyone experiences happiness the same way. For me, maybe it's more of a feeling of satisfaction, like I've done my duty, or I'm living up to expectations. Not the kind of thing you pull a Patronus from."

"I don't buy that. Happiness is happiness." Harry leaned across the table and rested his chin on his fist. "Tell me about your childhood." He felt like a Muggle psychiatrist, but Draco wouldn't get the reference.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You're serious."

"Yup."

Draco shrugged. "Not much to tell. Normal childhood."

"You grew up in a wizarding household. That's hardly a normal childhood," Harry said.

"It is for wizards."

"Some wizards," Harry pointed out. Still. There was an opportunity here. "Humour me. All I really know about it is what I've seen from the Weasleys; I assume your family is a little different from theirs."

Draco snorted. "I should hope so."

Harry felt his face tighten at the implied slight to the Weasleys. Draco didn't seem to notice.

"Maybe we should practice with a boggart," he said. "Maybe I would do better under pressure, like if I thought there was really a Dementor nearby."

"McGonagall already thought of that," Harry said. "We tried. My boggart isn't a Dementor anymore." No, it was himself getting in touch with his inner Voldemort. He shuddered.

Draco's mouth rounded. "Oh—I forgot about that. Third year, right?"

"Yeah—what do you mean, you forgot?" He remembered Draco, Crabbe and Goyle dressed up as Dementors on the Quidditch field. Obviously that day hadn't made as big an impression on Malfoy as on him. "Why suggest it, if you didn't think we could do it?"

The sardonic smile returned. "You may have moved on to bigger and better fears, Potter, but I should think it's fairly obvious that my boggart is a Dementor."

"It is?"

"It is now." He sighed. "There are wizards out there who bear a grudge against my family, for some reason." His tone dripped sarcasm. "Some of them have connections in dark places. It seems that the free Dementors have been offered a certain amount of encouragement to hang around Malfoy Manor. Or anywhere we're likely to be, actually, Hogwarts excepted. I've already had a couple of run-ins with them."

Dementors. The hairs on his arms stood up. "That's why McGonagall wants you to learn the Patronus."

"Five points to Gryfferin," Draco said.

So they could practice with a boggart. Harry didn't think that would help, though, at this stage. "Maybe once we've got you producing a Patronus, we'll use the boggart to see if you can do it under pressure," he said. "We need to get there first, though. You were about to tell me about your childhood."

Draco tensed up. Probably unhappy that Harry had rejected his plan. "Happy moments?"

"Any moments," Harry said, "but we need happy ones for the Patronus Charm." Please don't let Draco say anything else about the Weasleys.

"I got my first broom for my first birthday," Draco said. "I don't really remember, but I've seen pictures."

Harry remembered the note his mother had written to Sirius, thanking him for Harry's first broomstick. "I think I did, too. From my godfather." He smiled.

"How—oh," Draco said. "Before."

Harry nodded. "Before."

"What else?" Draco considered for a few seconds. "First house-elf?"

"Not sure I want to know," Harry said, thinking of Dobby.

"Hey, you asked. It's part of a normal wizarding childhood."

"How about we stick to the parts that don't involve abuse?"

Draco's face darkened. He looked away.

"Draco?"

"I have to go," Draco said, standing.

Harry's hand moved faster than his thoughts. He grabbed Draco's arm. "Wait."

"Let go of me." Draco's voice sounded cold and controlled, but the table rattled.

Harry held on to him, trying to keep up. "What is this? We were just talking about broomsticks, and now—"

"I said, let go of me!" Books flew off shelves as Draco yanked his arm out of Harry's grip.

Something heavy hit Harry in the face; stars flickered in his vision. He blinked, trying to see past them. His tongue hurt; he must have bitten it. Blood, hot and metallic, seeped into his mouth.

His vision cleared in time to see Draco staring at him, wide-eyed and pale. Draco took three slow steps back, then turned and fled.

* * *

Much later, Harry went looking for Draco. He found him down by the lake, in their usual spot.

Draco leaned against a tree. He seemed to be looking out across the water. His posture—one leg bent up, the other straight out in front, one arm resting casually over the bent knee—spoke of relaxation. The set of his shoulders said differently.

Harry settled in beside him. "You missed dinner."

Draco flexed and unflexed his fingers. "Unless it was prime rib, I'm not concerned."

"I shouldn't have pushed you," Harry said.

Draco's mouth twisted into something approximating a smile. "I shouldn't have thrown a book at your head. Magically or otherwise."

"Granted." He watched the water, rather than staring at Draco. There was little wind this evening; the water lapped quietly at the shore. Shadows lay long and the afternoon's warmth was gone. "You didn't have a normal wizarding childhood after all, did you?"

"Probably not."

Harry nodded. It explained a lot. "I wanted you to have," he admitted. "I guess I was hoping you could tell me what it was like. An only child, a son, born to wizard parents. Well off. I thought… there would have been things we'd have had in common."

"If not for the whole pesky Dark Lord problem," Draco said.

"If not for that." In truth, it seemed that Draco's childhood had more in common with Harry's life with the Durlseys than with the life he would have had with his parents. That conversation could wait for another day. If ever.

They watched while the sky grew dim. "I can tell you that stuff if you want," Draco said at last. "Lots of things. It wasn't all bad, not by a long shot. At wizarding birthday parties, the candles sing. Did you know that?"

Harry smiled. "I did. Mrs. Weasley got that kind for her husband, once. What about pets? Did you ever have a dog—a Krup or anything?"

That brought an answering smile. "Not in the house. Mother wouldn't have allowed it. There was a family of Kneazles living in the stables, though. I used to sneak out to play with them."

They talked until the moon was high over the lake. Somehow, without Harry being able to pinpoint when it happened, they shifted closer together, Draco's right side pressed against Harry's left. For warmth, Harry decided. Where they weren't touching, he was cold. He shivered.

Draco slid his arm around Harry. "You all right?" he asked.

Harry had to remind himself to breathe. He nodded, reaching for normalcy. "We've missed curfew, haven't we?" Draco's smell surrounded him, soap and spice. The cold wasn't so bad, now.

"I think so. Maybe McGonagall will make us scrub walls again," Draco said.

"We should go in."

"I suppose." Neither of them moved. "It's nice out here."

"It is," Harry agreed. "And we're already in trouble. Another few minutes won't make much difference."

Draco laughed. "That's very Slytherin of you."

Harry was never sure how long they sat there, not talking. The moon had progressed across the lake and was moving lower in the sky by the time he forced his stiffened joints to stand. "Come on," he said. "You'll be unbearable if you catch cold." He helped Draco to his feet.

The main door was locked. The gargoyle guarding the entrance eyed them with disinterest. "No one comes in this time of night," it said. "Headmistress's orders."

"Look, we live here. We've just missed curfew," Harry said. "Surely she doesn't mean for us to stay out here all night."

The gargoyle shrugged. "Not for me to say, is it? I have me orders."

"At least tell her we're here," Draco said. "It's Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy."

"As if I don't know your names," the gargoyle said. "How dense do you think I am?" It laughed, a horrible, grinding sound. "That's a joke. I'm made of stone. Dense, get it?"

Harry thought he liked 'Gryfferin' better, as jokes went. "So what are we supposed to do?"

The gargoyle shrugged. "Doors open at sunrise. Come back then."

Draco was looking at Harry. "Well?" he asked. He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, what?"

"You're Harry Potter. Get us in. Don't you know all kinds of secret ways into the castle, you and your friends?"

"Not anymore," Harry said. He considered. "I could get us to the Shrieking Shack, I suppose."

Draco shuddered. "No, thanks."

Harry didn't want to go back there, either. "Then I guess we're stuck waiting." A small part of him wasn't at all upset by the idea of spending the entire night alone with Draco. "Let's go back by the lake; it's nicer there."

To his surprise, Draco didn't protest. "I know a good warming charm," he offered.

"Why didn't you use that before?" Harry asked.

Draco's mouth twitched up at the corner. "I was comfortable the way we were."

Harry stumbled over a root. Did Draco mean that the way Harry thought he meant it? Or did he just mean that he had been warm enough, so no warming charm had been necessary?

"Can you transfigure us some blankets?" Draco asked, when they reached the spot.

"I think so," Harry said. "A tent might be hard, though."

"Just blankets is fine. Haven't you ever slept under the stars before?" Draco paused. "That's a childhood memory I should tell you. I forgot that one."

Harry managed the blankets, and Draco applied the promised warming charm. Harry had a moment of hesitation, wondering whether to set the blankets out for them to share or each curl up in one.

Draco made the decision, spreading his blanket flat and gesturing for Harry to join him. They pulled the second blanket overtop, then lay back and looked at the sky.

"It's not so bad, is it?" Draco asked.

"Not so bad at all," Harry said.

Long moments passed in silence. "Tell me something," Draco said finally. "What shape does your boggart take now? I'd like to know what I have to look forward to, after Dementors." He managed a self-deprecating laugh.

Harry watched the stars. He'd never imagined himself sharing secrets with Draco Malfoy under the night sky, or under any sky for that matter. Voldemort-Harry wasn't something he particularly wanted to discuss, but maybe it would help to share it with someone. Oddly, he had the feeling that if anyone could listen without judging, it would be Draco.

"Me," he said.

"You're afraid of—you?" Draco turned to face him.

"Not the way I usually am. Dark, I guess. I'm afraid of turning out like Voldemort."

Draco was quiet for so long that Harry almost didn't expect him to answer. "That might be the most intelligent fear I've ever heard of," was his response when it finally came. He covered Harry's hand with his own.

The contact felt good. It was warmth; it was a link to another human being. Harry held perfectly still, afraid that if he moved, Draco might take his hand away.

"Mine used to be my father," Draco offered. "Angry."

Harry squeezed his fingers. There didn't seem to be any other response that fit.

"Are you warm enough?" Draco asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. "You?"

"Perfect."

**Day Seventeen**

Harry woke to the sound of a throat clearing. It sounded familiar, but he was comfortable, curled up and warm, Draco's heart beating beneath his ear.

"Mnnnnh," he said. It didn't work this time, either.

Draco shook him gently. "Er, Harry? You'll want to wake up now." He pressed Harry's glasses into his hand.

Harry jammed them on his face, then pried his eyes open. McGonagall stood above them, her hands on her hips. "Good morning, Mr. Potter," she said.

"Gah!" Harry jumped back. He checked that he and Draco were both fully dressed. They were. That was good. That was very, very good. Then this wasn't a dream.

Oh. That was bad.

McGonagall arched an eyebrow. "I trust we'll be having no more camping parties?"

"You knew?" Harry asked.

"I am Headmistress of Hogwarts. You'll find there's very little that goes on here that I do not know," she said. "Think of it as a benefit of the job."

"You left us out here?" Draco sounded like he were working himself up to a righteous rage.

"There was never any danger, Mr. Malfoy," she said. "I had Hagrid keeping watch."

"H'llo." Hagrid stepped out from behind some trees and waved bashfully at Harry.

"Gah!" It was Draco's turn to jump back.

McGonagall tapped her chin thoughtfully. "You'll want to return to the castle before breakfast, I expect," she said. "Perhaps we'd best leave you to collect yourselves. Hagrid?"

After McGonagall and Hagrid had left, Harry turned to Draco. "That was… awkward," he said.

"Not the way I prefer to wake up," Draco said. "Present company excepted, of course."

There was really no misinterpreting that. "You mean…"

"Don't be dense, Potter. There's something I want to show you. I figured it out last night." Draco stood, letting the blankets tumble to the ground. "_Expecto Patronum!_" A blur of silver shot from his wand, coalescing into a swan that glided back and forth over the water.

It was… perfect. Harry stared long after the swan had disappeared. "You did it."

Draco grinned. "You were right. I just needed the right memory."

"What was it?"

Draco dropped a kiss onto Harry's forehead. "You'll figure it out," he said. He turned and walked away, leaving Harry sitting on the transfigured blanket, feeling like someone had yanked the world out from under him.

There were worse feelings.

-end-

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